My Ancestors

A barefoot boy I went to school
To save a cobbler's fee,

For though the porridge pot was full
A frugal folk were we;

We baked our bannocks, spun our wool,
And counted each bawbee.

We reft our living from the soil,
And I was shieling bred;

My father's hands were warped with toil,
And crooked with grace he said.

My mother made the kettle boil
As spinning wheel she fed.

My granny smoked a pipe of clay,
And yammered of her youth;

The hairs upon her chin were grey,
She had a single tooth;

Her mutch was grimed,

I grieve to say,
For I would speak the truth.

You of your ancestry may boast,—
Well, here I brag of mine;

For if there is a heaven host
I hope they'll be in line:

My dad with collie at his heel
In plaid of tartan stripe;

My mammie with her spinning wheel,
My granny with her pipe.